


i would know him in death

by kuryakin



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Canon Rewrite, Canonical Character Death, Friendship Is Romance, Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:28:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25887361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuryakin/pseuds/kuryakin
Summary: “I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.”― Madeline Miller,The Song of AchillesJames Norrington is Theodore Groves' dearest friend, but after Theo declines to join the hunt for Jack Sparrow that ultimately results in a cataclysmic hurricane off Tripoli, he is wracked with guilt and grief over James' presumed death. Devastated, Theo shifts his allegiance to the East India Trading Company, serving under Lord Cutler Beckett. The work is simple enough, and Theo endures it in a phantom imitation of his former self, though he cannot shake the punishing remorse he carries over the commodore's death.That is, of course, until a familiar―if not disheveled―figure is escorted into Beckett's office one day, in possession of a pouch he claims holds the heart of Davy Jones.
Relationships: James Norrington & Theodore Groves, Theodore Groves/James Norrington
Comments: 24
Kudos: 31





	1. resurrection

**Author's Note:**

> A few points for some context:
> 
> 1) Since Groves isn’t present in _DMC_ , there’s some speculation around when he switched alliances from the Royal Navy to the EITC. I headcanon that after hearing of the hurricane and James’ presumed death, he remained in the Navy only a short while longer, then resigned his post before taking up a position with the EITC some months later. There is a brief interlude of a few months between his departure from the Navy and allegiance to the EITC. This period (perhaps lazily) explains why Groves wouldn’t have known about the warrant for James’ arrest that Beckett presents at the beginning of _DMC_ , as he has yet to become a Company man. He believes James dead until he sees him arrive in Beckett’s office at the end of _DMC_.
> 
> 2) I don't know why I choose to refer to James and Theo by their first names but Gillette by his surname (other than adopting his fan-given name in the beginning of the work), but something about it flows easier. Perhaps it's because he doesn't have a canon first name, but I hope it isn't too distracting.

“But sir! What about Sparrow?”

“Oh, I think we can afford to give him one day’s head start.”

As the commodore pivots on his heel and retreats from the parapet, Lieutenants Theodore Groves and Andrew Gillette turn to one another in mutual bewilderment, then resign themselves to a shrug. The events of the last several days had significantly raised their thresholds for astonishment, and where James Norrington showing mercy toward a legendary pirate might have once shaken the men to their core, it now paled in comparison to cursed Aztec gold, skeleton pirates, and a hidden island only reachable by those who had been before. 

After the marines flanking them have filed out, Theo suggests to Gillette that this is perhaps a day best punctuated over a few pints of ale and a warm tavern booth.

—

“Can you believe Miss Swann jilted James for that _blacksmith_?!” Gillette slurs, his voice thick with drink and a few decibels too loud. Theo furiously quiets him, smacking the side of his head in harsh rebuke. It has little effect beyond Gillette snaking a hand up to survey the offended spot, though he is much too inebriated to fulfill the task.

“Keep your voice down,” Theo hisses, glancing around them to assess who may have heard. They’d intentionally chosen a pub in a seedier section of town to avoid the burning ears of the society’s gossip mongers, but those efforts would be for naught if Gillette’s inability to hold his liquor betrays them. “He’s already been quite thoroughly humiliated, wouldn’t you agree? Don’t need you drunkenly blabbering his business to the whole of Port Royal.”

Gillette’s face slides into a languid, apologetic smile, and Theo sighs. His compatriot is too far gone now to retain any of Theo’s chastising, which means he will have to host the loudmouth at his residence for the evening to ensure he doesn’t let slip their friend’s most private anguish.

—

Near midnight, the men begin their retreat to Theo’s home, and Gillette’s drunken staggering compels Theo to hold out a steadying arm, anticipating the man’s inevitable fall. Such an action is reflexive now, an instinct borne down into him from years of tending to the younger, more impulsive gentleman’s whims. Gillette is a brilliant seaman, no doubt, but his jocular nature and apparent disregard for the consequences of his actions had led James to quickly place him in Theo’s charge.

With Gillette weaving ahead of him, Theo grants himself a quiet chuckle upon realizing that James had served very much the same purpose for a callow Midshipman Groves, eager to prove himself a competent mariner yet far too inexperienced to curtail his hubris. 

A lesser captain would have chided him outright, he thinks, had him flogged on frequent, public occasions to upbraid his youthful arrogance and position him as an example to other mariners who dare follow in his path. He’d heard tales of such commanders from colleagues aboard other vessels: men who were superior in rank and little else. 

Instead, James had shown Theo patience, kindness, guidance, and only the occasional sardonic quip. His steady mentorship had gradually blossomed into a friendship found on equal footing, with James deferring to Theo in moments of uncertainty and considering his dissent with the same respect as his accord. And though he’d never addressed the topic outright with James—who became exceedingly uncomfortable at even the slightest bout of praise—Theo had been determined to convey his gratitude for his captain’s mercy by making good on his promise to look after the junior officer.

They were brothers, the three of them. They spoke in dialects of secrets shared, needs anticipated, and fears divulged; a language of fraternal intimacy that not even common blood could bolster. 

—

The day following Sparrow’s escape, James charts a course to apprehend the _Pearl_ ’s captain, and enlists his most capable and trusted men to supplement his charge. As always, Theo is recruited first, but his commanding officer’s increasingly severe countenance and the frayed edges of his voice give him pause. Much to James’ shock, Theo gratefully declines the position, fumbling through vague excuses that both men know each other too well to believe, and sees him off at the docks. James extends a hand in brittle courtesy, which Theo clasps with a reverent smile. If there is anyone to finally arrest and hang Jack Sparrow, Theo thinks, it is James Norrington.

Two months after the _Dauntless_ fades from Port Royal’s horizon, Theo receives word of a violent hurricane off the coast of Tripoli that had demolished the Royal Navy’s prized vessel and swallowed the whole of its crew. He blanches, dumbfounded, at the news, then—as if remembering himself and the expectations of his command—curtly thanks and dismisses the midshipman who’s delivered the correspondence, hoping in vain that his voice does not betray the swollen lump forming in the base of his throat.

It is not until the door’s latch clicks shut that he allows hot tears to stream down his face, his body wracked with regretful sobs. 

—

The East India Trading Company uniform is stiff and unforgiving, and Theo notes he doesn’t much care for the flagrant marigold that now besieges his familiar blue. He fidgets uncomfortably in the starch material for several weeks after assuming his new allegiance, though careful not to betray even the slightest dissatisfaction to his most recent superior. 

Lord Cutler Beckett is a man of myriad contradictions, Theo comes to find. His stature is diminutive yet imposing; his deportment polite yet supercilious; his position noble yet his ambitions anything but. Though Theo rarely allows his thoughts to wander to his dear friend and fallen commodore, the proximity to Lord Beckett and his devilish designs makes James a constant, antithetical fixture in his mind. He quickly surmises that men of James’ caliber are the exception, not the rule.

—

There is frequent talk of some chest, a mysterious key, and a heart of some sort, though it is always conducted in hushed murmurs through office walls. Theo pays it little mind. He is intimately familiar with the imaginative superstitions of seamen, and the part of him that once felt alight at indulging such tales has long been snuffed out, replaced with a coarse, waxy callus. He does grant himself an intermittent and private bout of laughter recalling how James had so despised such folklore, often barely able to suppress his disdainful eye roll. 

Theo doesn’t feel much of anything anymore, truthfully. The rare occasions on which he experiences more than resigned indifference are when Gillette has returned from yet another painstaking tour, and they regale one another over pints and raucous tavern laughter. It is one of the only pockets of joy that remains in his life, though such reunions occur fewer and further between as of late. Theo briefly wonders if Beckett has arranged it such that he and Gillette sparsely ever cross paths anymore, then berates himself for the mutinous thought. 

—

Days under the Company’s colors are long and arduous, and the recent news of Davy Jones’ attack on _The Black Pearl_ only serves to augment the chaos surrounding the fort. Theo’s mind darts to two _Pearl_ crew members in particular: Captain Jack Sparrow—the best pirate he’s ever seen, and Elizabeth Swann—the Governor’s daughter and the only woman who’d ever thoroughly bewitched James Norrington. He sighs deeply, quietly grateful that James is not alive to hear of the tragic fate that has befallen his erstwhile fiancée. 

Or so he’d thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm terribly sorry to end on a cliffhanger, but i wanted to give the next chapter―perhaps my favorite of this entire work―the full spotlight. it's near finished, so i plan to be back very soon! until then, you can always find me on tumblr at [norrrington](http://norrrington.tumblr.com)!
> 
> thank you so much for reading! your kudos and incredibly kind comments are the bright spots of my day! <3


	2. absolution

The afternoon heat is punishing, and the humidity coats the air with a suffocating thickness. Theo is seated at the large oak desk in his office, his hands slick with sweat and tugging at the ivory cravat that seems to more closely resemble a noose. He is so preoccupied with his mounting discomfort that he nearly misses the man entering Beckett’s office just across the hall, shackled and flanked by two soldiers.

The sight of him sets Theo’s senses on edge, and he is suddenly overcome with an inexplicable sense of foreboding. There is something… _familiar_ about the apparent stranger; a phantom outline of a person Theo once knew but can no longer place. He studies the figure in desperation, frantic eyes scouring him for any indication to grasp onto. 

Then, suddenly, he speaks, and Theo’s blood runs cold.

The man’s skin is tanned and weathered from the elements, and a layer of grime has formed so thickly on his chest, face, and hands that it’s unclear if he will ever be completely rid of it. His hair is longer than Theo has ever seen it, trailing out of a loose queue, and he carries himself with a dejection that renders him near unrecognizable. 

_Near_ , but not quite. Theo would know that voice anywhere.

He is paralyzed with anticipation, his eyes cast downward in forceful—if feigned—attention on the charts splayed out before him, his knuckles gripping the edges of the desk so tightly the skin goes white. His heart threatens to lurch from his chest, a faint dizziness overcoming him. He must confirm this seemingly impossible phenomenon for himself.

He holds off until the meeting with Beckett has concluded; then, upon hearing heavy footfalls in the hallway, hastily steps out of his office so that he blocks the man just a few feet in front of him. The figure halts so abruptly that he nearly loses his footing, but the shock of the obstruction is nothing compared to the incredulous expression he bears upon properly regarding the man before him.

They stand facing one another for a long moment, studying the other in utter disbelief. Theo speaks first, unable to endure another second of the oppressive silence.

“James?” It escapes him like a gasp, an exhalation he hadn’t known he was holding.

The man blinks, his dark eyes like crystallized emerald, an expression frozen in time. Then, snapping out of a distant reverie, he straightens himself, as though hoping to retain even a modicum of his former dignity.

“Theo,” he breathes, so softly it’s nearly lost in the clamor outside. His gaze flits over Theo’s new attire, and he feels his heart sink into his stomach. What had Theo done? What had they _both_ done? 

“I— Since when are you a Company man?”

Theo laughs—a warm, good natured melody—and surveys James with a smile. “Surely my new uniform is less appalling than your own,” he teases. “The James Norrington I once knew would not have hesitated to censure us for trashing our effects so.” His eyes twinkle with good humor, his voice finding a cadence of jovial ease it’s not had in ages.

James shifts awkwardly, casting his eyes downward. His voice had carried throughout the hall with such conviction just a few minutes prior, but now—confronted with the familiar face of a long-lost friend—he feels _hollow_ , exhausted to his bones.

“Yes, well...” he trails off, his voice wavering slightly. “That man is so foreign to me now it’s a marvel we share a namesake.”

Theo’s face falls at this, the confidence he’d exuded just seconds ago now retreating from James’ uncharacteristic display of unease. James’ heart wrenches at the sight, and an unexpected lump nestles itself in the base of his throat. _It’s always the sympathy that unravels one, isn’t it?_

After holding James’ gaze for a moment longer than is perhaps comfortable, Theo glances around the narrow corridor, as if suddenly supremely aware of their exposed location. He gestures wordlessly toward his office, waiting for James to oblige, then follows him reverently, closing the door behind them.

Once inside, Theo remains standing, reflexively awaiting an order from his former superior. _Old habits_ , he supposes.

As though able to read his thoughts, James lowers himself into the seat across from Theo, who follows suit by settling into his desk chair. He swallows hard, unsure how to begin. How do you greet a man—your dearest friend—whom you’d presumed dead for the better part of a year? How do you reconcile the grief, the loss, the _anger_ that’s consumed you with the sight before you, who yields all prior points moot? How do you articulate the questions that have relentlessly barraged your every faculty, day in and day out?

He’s not left to wonder long, as James breaks the silence after what feels like ages.

“Lord Beckett has reinstated me to the Royal Navy.”

Theo balks for just a moment, but by the time James has registered it, his friend has adopted a decidedly neutral expression in its place. “That’s most excellent news,” he smiles, though there is a faint frenetic edge to his voice. “To your former rank and status, I presume?”

James sighs, then shakes his head solemnly. “No. I’ve been promoted to the admiralty.”

Theo cannot suppress the abrupt laugh that escapes him, at which James’ head snaps up. “I’m sorry,” Theo exhales, waving his hand. “But only you could turn such a coveted promotion into a mournful occasion.”

James grunts wryly. It’s not quite a laugh, but it is a considerably more affable response than any other he’s offered thus far. Theo will take it.

“Ah, well. I’m not quite sure the world so mandates another Admiral Norrington, is all.”

Theo is utterly lost at this, his chest heaving with spurts of laughter. The familiar cadence tears open something _cavernous_ inside James, and he swears he could weep for how sorely he’d missed that sound. 

The conversation flows easily then, and Theo thinks that if he closes his eyes, he could transport them back to the decks of the _Dauntless_ , the cool sea breeze misting his face as James’ commands ring out across the vessel. 

But those men are long gone now, lost to the maelstroms of grief and heartache and loss, buried in the sands of their choices.

He informs James of all he’s missed in Port Royal, explains how the Navy had seemed to flounder after their departure, how he’d resigned his post just shy of a fortnight after seeing James off, and how he’d eventually found his way to the Company after a few long months. He apprises him of Gillette’s whereabouts, complete with proposing his tentative theory of Beckett’s interference, to which James replies simply with a hum of discontented agreement. 

After James is sufficiently regaled, the men sit in companionable silence for a few moments, lulled by the comforting sounds of a bustling fort and crashing waves. Yet despite the ease of their company, a tense fog looms in the air, the weight of an unposed question thick between them. 

Theo longs to pester his dear friend for the incredible stories he’s no doubt accrued during their separation—wishes to pluck grand tales like seashells from the palm of his hand—but James doesn’t offer, so Theo doesn’t ask. Instead, he considers his words carefully, then clears his throat. 

“I thought you were dead, James.”

His tone is even and indecipherable, but the gravity behind the words is solemn and heavy, saturating the room like blood seeping into cloth. James sighs as though he‘s not exhaled in years, arching a brow in resigned acknowledgment. 

“In many ways I was,” he concedes, rubbing the back of his neck with a blackened palm. “The hurricane took everything from me. Six hundred men were lost, Theo. Many with whom we’d served for years. It was my duty to protect them, and I failed. I allowed my hubris—my _vengeance_ —to cloud my judgement, and now scores of families have been robbed of husbands and fathers because of it. Because of _me_.”

He wrings his hands in his lap to stop them from trembling, but it is no use. He’s never spoken these words aloud before, he realizes, never reckoned with them so candidly. On the nights in Tortuga when the guilt had become particularly unbearable, he’d chased it with drink until the tavern lights blurred and faded to black. His throat is suddenly dry, and he curses his yearning for the familiar burn of that vile elixir in his throat.

Theo is quiet for a long minute, then leans forward, clasping his hands together. “You weren’t in your proper mind, James. I saw it the moment Sparrow fell from that parapet. It’s why I declined to join you. I was scared, but most of all I was foolish... selfish. I knew you weren’t yourself and I allowed you to embark on that damned expedition anyway. Then I heard word of the hurricane, and we were informed that there were no survivors...” He winces slightly, as if anticipating a blow. “Some second in command, eh?”

James’ lips are positioned for an objection, but Theo holds up a hand to stop him, fearful that any interruption could cause him to lose his nerve. “I’ve lived with the guilt I’ve carried over my culpability in your death for nigh two years now. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve lost myself in a bottle just to quiet those blasted thoughts.” He swallows hard, and James notices his eyes appear to be glistening. “But you’re here now, James, and you’re alive. That is a far grander miracle than I could have ever imagined. So I can relinquish myself from this burden. And it’s time you release yours as well.”

James draws in a shaky breath, rendered speechless by the sincerity of Theo’s confession. He cannot help the ragged laugh that escapes him—half chuckle, half choked sob—a response of bitter amusement at the realization that even worlds apart, his and Theo’s lives had continued to run parallel; ships passing in the night. 

There are gaping pockets in his mind where alcohol has occluded much of his memory, but he is haunted by the recollection of those wretched evenings in Tortuga—his thoughts clouded with sorrow and retribution and _rage_ —during which he’d felt an inexplicable gravitation toward Port Royal. It was as if his heartstrings were tethered to some unknown port, wrenching toward it with an instinctual yearning. 

It is not until this moment, seated across from his dearest friend, that James realizes the unrelenting tightness in his chest has since dissipated, the elastic tension relieved at last. 

_Theo is the anchor_.

He scrubs his face with his hands, Theo’s absolution washing over him like communion. He finds himself at a loss, unable to convey that his friend’s mercy is far more of a religious experience than anything he’s witnessed within a cathedral. 

Instead, he closes his eyes and nods reverently, a wordless act of gratitude and understanding that only two brothers—bound not by blood, but rather a shared livelihood and a steadfast commitment to one another—can share.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading! I promise to be back soon! <3


	3. communion

“Is it fair to presume you are without lodgings?”

Hours have now passed since James and Theo’s reunion, yet they remain cloistered in the Company office, a warm orange hue settling around them as the sun dips below the horizon. Theo is standing now, arranging the parchment strewn about his desk with disengaged precision, but glances up from his task to meet James’ eye as he ponders the invitation.

James releases a shaky sigh, dropping his gaze to the floorboards. Theo held a reputation throughout the Navy for sheltering the unhoused, always offering a warm bed and clean clothing to even the most unfamiliar of marines. It was among one of many traits James revered about his friend, yet being the recipient of such a kindness leaves James feeling _hollow_ , shame tinging the tips of his ears a deep scarlet.

“Indeed, though that is not a matter with which you need concern yourself, Theo.”

Theo scoffs at this, his expression contorting in appalled disgust. 

“What rubbish! ‘Twas merely a question of formality, if I am to be quite honest,” he smiles, warm provocation glinting in his eyes. “Besides, I suspect you’ll find my living conditions in _harmonious accordance_ with naval guidelines.”

It is James’ turn to balk now, his lips upturning in a sardonic smile. “I believe our reunion is sufficiently miraculous for a lifetime, Theo. Expecting anything else would be simply greedy.”

Theo responds with affected offense, swatting at James with a small, leather bound journal. 

“Keep it up, _Admiral_ , and you’ll find your lodgings in the cellblocks.”

—

The two men set out for home not two hours later, enveloping themselves in the velvet cloak of nightfall so as to move about town undetected. They walk beside one another in companionable silence, each allowing the other to engage the swirling thoughts that besiege them both.

James’ movements are stiff and his posture rigid, as if bracing himself for an attack. Though he’d followed this path countless times in his former life, the plight that had since befallen him leaves him dizzied by the sensory assault that is the trek to Theo’s home, a course riddled with familiar fixtures that feel suddenly claustrophobic. 

Port Royal appears virtually unchanged, as though it has awaited James’ return with bated breath. Moonlight peeks through the slats of the palm fronds overhead, swaying with the balmy evening breeze and dappling upon the cobblestone. James feels suddenly nauseated at the movement of the dancing shadows, now finding them a haunting reminder of the James Norrington who’d perished so long ago.

He is barraged at every turn with phantoms from his former life, each more forceful than the last. They pass the Rowdy Rooster, a tavern he, Theo, and Gillette had frequented so many years prior; the Whale and Waterspout Inn, where the kindly Mr. Garrett had housed James during his first few months in Port Royal; and Mr. Brown’s Smithy, which reignites a familiar, searing ache in his breastbone.

It is a most severe indignity, then, that he has barely regained his faculties before they come upon the next scene: a final, punishing blow that nearly knocks him backward, bile rising in his throat as though he’s just absorbed a blow to the stomach.

The iron gates of the Governor’s mansion tower over them, a looming, mocking barrier to a life never meant for James. Hot tears prick at his eyes as he recalls his most recent encounter with his erstwhile fiancée—loose-haired and _free_ —and the unexpected ease of their reunion, unshackled by the restraints of propriety he’d once held so dear.

 _Oh_ , how he’d missed her.

He’s not the faintest idea of her fate after their separation on Isla Cruces, though the events of their last moments together suggested little in her favor. He had not allowed his thoughts to wander to her at any point during his return to Port Royal, but now—confronted with a stalwart reminder of his most violent anguish—he is defenseless, a disgraced, pathetic shell of the man he’d so ardently strived to become.

And the Governor—oh, what had become of his cherished friend; the man who had always loved James as a son? 

His hands shake uncontrollably now, his vision blurring and receding, and he is helpless as he hurls the contents of his stomach into a nearby bush, his throat burning with guilt and shame.

Theo rushes to his side, placing a steadying hand on James’ back and aiding him to his feet.

“I’m utterly mortified, Theo. Please, forgive me,” he pleads, wiping the corners of his mouth with a trembling palm.

His apology falls on deaf ears, and James’ profound humiliation is only compounded by Theo’s relentless understanding and generosity of spirit.

“Nothing for which to be forgiven, my friend, for it is I who should be apologizing. It was callous of me to take this path. I should have known better. I don’t know what possessed me—“

James shakes his head vigorously, reaching across the space between them to rest a hand on Theo’s shoulder. “Let us put the apologies to rest, shall we? The Pope’s ears must be _searing_.”

The smile Theo releases splits his features, and the remaining journey is filled with Theo’s colorful—if not blasphemous—quips.

—

Theo’s apartment is modest, quaint, and far neater than James had ever recalled. He was never an unkempt man by any means, but he had always seemed more preoccupied with grander pursuits than tidiness and order. It had been a frequent point of contention between the men, with James frequently rebuking his lieutenant’s decidedly chaotic arrangements, and Theo rebuffing them with careless whimsy. 

Theo catches the faint etching of surprise across James’ features, and releases a slight chuckle that breaks James from his nostalgic assessment. His face burns at the insulting implications of his expression, but before he can stumble over yet another apology, Theo waves a hand dismissively, cleansing James of his shame for the third time that day.

“I know, I know,” he concedes, a good-natured sigh pushing the admission from his lips. The corners of his mouth twitch upward in a jocular smile as he straightens himself and clasps his hands behind his back, an unmistakable imitation of his friend’s signature stance. “ _Lieutenant Groves, perhaps what astounds me more than the repulsive conditions in which you reside is the marvel that you’ve not yet been displaced by vermin._ ” 

He punctuates his recollection of James’ admonishments by stalking around his quarters with affected superiority, pausing only to sneak glances at the other man in self-serving attempts to determine the extent to which he is unraveling him. James cannot suppress the eye roll that overcomes him, which only serves to send Theo into a fit of laughter the newly-minted admiral knows he can only wait out with disdainful perseverance.

Theo recovers shortly after, wiping joyful tears from his cheeks and heaving from his performance. He’s always derived great satisfaction from testing the limits of his commanding officer’s patience, and resolves he would be remiss not to revive their tradition on such a miraculous occasion. 

He doesn’t inform James that he’d only begun keeping his effects in order after he’d presumed James dead, or that said cleanliness had been the only remnant of closeness to his fallen friend, or that it was a habit primarily adopted to discourage himself from destroying the room in his frequent and violent fits of grief-fueled rage. 

Instead, he crosses over to the small oak chest of drawers positioned at the opposite end of the room and extracts a clean linen shirt and breeches, which he extends to James with a warm smile.

“There’s a tub in the washroom,” he offers, gesturing toward a small, dimly-lit room off the side of his quarters. “It’s not much, and certainly won’t rid you completely of the new color you’ve taken on, but it should do.”

James tuts at Theo’s quip, but finds he is far too enticed by the prospect of a warm bath to press the matter further. He pauses briefly, then bows his head. “Thank you, Theo. Your kindness vastly exceeds my deservingness.”

Yet Theo, as always, will have none of the former commodore’s contrition. 

“Nonsense, James. Consider it my settling the debt I’ve accrued from your own generosity.”

They are both quiet for a long moment, cloistered in a shared and reverent understanding. Theo breaks the silence first, his disposition swiftly returning to its customary warmth.

“I believe it’s protocol for the superior officer to claim the most preferable berth, is it not?” He asks, his gaze drifting to the small bed just a short distance from them.

James’ dark brows draw to a crease, casting a concerned shadow over his emerald eyes. “Procedurally, yes, but I would never expect—“

“Then it’s settled!” Theo interjects, his jaw set authoritatively. “You will take the bed, and I will take the cot.”

James’ mouth contorts to object, but Theo abruptly raises a finger to silence him. “If you accept my offering, I swear to not make a single disparaging comment about the _dreadful_ state of your hair for the entirety of tomorrow.”

James is dumbfounded at this, his expression flashing between abject offense and sheer incredulity. Before he can offer a retort or admonishment, Theo is brandishing a catlike grin that threatens to split his features.

“You’ve got to be quicker on your feet, Norrington,” he goads, eyes glinting with boyish provocation. “You’re quite out of practice.”

James releases a heavy sigh and turns on his heels toward the washroom. 

“So it would seem,” comes the reluctant admission, and he swears he can hear Theo’s barks of laughter even through the thick wood of the closed door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry for the near two month delay on a chapter update, but I hope it was an enjoyable one! thank you so much for your continued kindness and support. I am so grateful. <3
> 
> as always, should you want to discuss this fic or lament the fates of these characters together, you can find me over on tumblr at [norrrington](http://norrrington.tumblr.com)!


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